Despite everything going on here and the fact that my allergies and hormones are turning me into a giant misery ball this week, I do not wake up thinking “I hate my life,” as I did for the better part of the last two decades.
Despite the blowout with my roommate, I have not remained as angry as I would have in the past. I let myself feel the anger and hollowness for a few days, and then I let it pass.
I have not turned on myself with self-destructive thoughts.
I have quelled some of my initial impulses to run back to L.A. in the face of everything going on (wrong?) here, making the rational decision to wait things out a bit longer and enjoy this time off. Life is long.
At the same time, I’ve made peace with the possibility that I may eventually have to leave. I don’t think I will, but all I can do is give things my best shot. If nothing pans out, I can only interpret that as a sign that this is no longer the place for me.